


Paradise is you by my side

by oh_my_stars_and_sky



Series: Ydemoc Enivid Eht [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Deception, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_my_stars_and_sky/pseuds/oh_my_stars_and_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford is all at once so brilliant and so vulnerable.<br/>Bill likes that.<br/>Their love is bright, and blinding, not to far removed<br/>From a supernova.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i am done with my graceless heart ( so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is a crazy idea that I got and have decided to write  
> Its loosly based of the Divine Comedy, but told in reverse. instead of going Hell, Purgatory, Paradise, this goes Paradise, Purgatoy, Hell, because I feel like that kind of mirrors Ford's path, Paradise being the seventies and eighties and his time spent with Bill, Purgatory being his time trapped between dimmensions, and Hell being the reality he comes back to. The first two parts will basically follow Ford's canon story from the show, while the last part will be more of my own creation plot-wise. Each chapter title will be taken from a Florence and The Machine Song, because she gives me such Billford vibes (I super recommend her)  
> And, that's about it!  
> On that note, lets get this show on the road!

  


O grace abounding and allowing me to dare

to fix on my gaze the Eternal Light

so deep my vision was consumed in it!

-Dante Alighieri, Paradiso

  


For the first time in his life Ford felt

at home. He wasn’t the freak in Gravity Falls,not by a long shot, and that itself felt like a _miracle_ ,

felt like a thousand pounds taken right off his shoulders,

felt like _breathing_ and _laughing_ and _dancing_

and he did all three and he did science and he smiled often and bought coffee at the diner

  


and kept in touch with his old college friend,

Fiddleford, an mechanical engineer who was incredibly smart

(and handsome)

and nice

(and handsome)

who said he might visit soon,

and _who the hell knew_ Stanford-broken-glasses-six-fingers-loser-Pines

could have an honest-to-goodness _friend_

even if there were a few thousand miles in between them

they were still talking

they were still friends

  


here there are no reminders of a brother he no longer knows

(except when he looks in the mirror)

here there are no bullies taunting

(except sometimes in his mind)

here there is no one to disappoint

(except himself, except everyone he keeps in his ribcage, in his heart)

  


the coffee here is just great

  


and work, _work_ was _brilliant_

it was _interesting_ and _important_

and _completely unheard off_

gnomes and vampires and fairies and

and _magic_

and he’d almost filled 3 notebooks with it

of magic

of SCIENCE, applicable science, real, take-it-with-you-and-spout-it-off-in-conversation-to-impress-people

science

put-the-awards-you-won-from-it-on-your-wall-and-make-new-friends-over-it

science

get-it-published-and-make-your-family-proud

science

  


and the people of Gravity Falls, for the great majority at least, were kind and quirky and interesting, and they didn’t begrudge him, they don’t belittle him, they just smile odd smiles and tell bad-but-still-funny jokes and say out-of-context and worrying-but-mostly-just-weird things as he walks down their streets

and drinks coffee at their diner

and _breathes_ in their air

with a vigor with which he has never breathed before

  


and as he sits in his lab he quietly ponders

and wonders in awe at all of his luck

  


it appeared in a life that had been nothing but _painful_

finally things were at last looking up

  


.................

  


The forest trees whisper to each other around him,

conspiring and gossiping and telling secrets above his head

the sky looks down kindly, painted in the soft, warm pastels

of late afternoon in the fall

as he treks through the woods

following footprints

  


although footprints might be the wrong word,

they looked more like hooves?

or

or something new altogether

  


but regardless as they wove their way through the forest, on and off of trails dutifully he follows, well passed dinner he should be spending at the diner, well passed when he ought to be sleeping(he never sleeps anyway,

not here, how could someone sleep in a place so full of _mystery_ )

follows them by the fading daylight

and then by the soft moonlight

  


until at last

  


at _last_

the trees thinned into a clearing and there,

in the middle of it stood the creature he had been following,

and it

or rather, she

was the absolute most

 _beautiful_ thing he had ever seen

  


she had the body of a horse

falabella by the looks of it,

and her body was inlaid with gems and pearls and gold, glittering and gleaming

which climbed to just above her hips,

where seamlessly she became woman,

slim and almost muscular

with pale and unfalteringly clear skin

  


Her head was turned away from him,

so he could not see her face,

but her black hair cascaded

down her bare back in ringlets that were embellished here and there with jewel tones

emerald, amethyst, ruby

with strings of gold and strings of silver

falling pin straight in stark contrast with her curls

  


and though her head was turned, Ford could see a singular pearly white spiral hord,

protruding from her forehead,

and Ford recognised faintly the creature before him

from his research

  


“An anggitay!” Ford gasped, and the creature turned her head,

  


and locked eyes with Ford

  


her pupils were milky white,

the color of the moon and of baby’s breath,

  


and her eyes were a deep, earthen green,

a jungle in their own right

  


contrasting her lips, a dark red

the color of brick

the color of blood

  


and she only looked at him a moment before dashing off like a fawn but it was long enough for him to get a sketchable impression and so he took his journal from his coat and sat down on the leaf strewn forest floor and began to draw her,

  


and it was morning before he finished his sketch,

and it was 10am before he finished with his research back at his lab

(Anggitay-Filipino mythical creature

female centaur,

affinity for precious metals

How did they get here from Philippines?

need more info)

  


and so he stops by the diner for his coffee

and tips the young woman well

  


before returning to the forest

  


...............................

  


Nothing.

  


He returns to the forest and there is _nothing_ ; no hoof prints, no anggitay, _nothing_

and for the first time in months he could curse because this isn’t the first time something like this has happened

  


and he’s discovered so much but it’s all _questions_ and he loves it and he loves it and he loves it  


  


but he’d like some ANSWERS too

  


like where these things come from

and why

and how

and where they disappear to

and why and how

  


but he has no answers

and no choice but to return home to the lab and sleep

  


which he hates

(because it's _boring_

because it's _pointless_ )

because when he sleeps his regrets

gather like old friends

that he was never even friends with

but somehow they know all his secrets anyway

and they’re all shaped like his brother

and they all sound like an ocean

that he never wants to hear again

  


sleep

which he hates

because when he is awake he is free of his past

when he is awake he has a fresh start


	2. Gone are the Days of Begging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford hits a road block. He needs to find answers.  
> He finds them written on a cave wall.

 

O you, who in some pretty boat,  
Eager to listen, have been following  
Behind my ship, that singing sails along  
\- Dante, Paradiso

  
  


A week since the anggitay and there was still no evidence it was or had ever been in the forest

and on top of that things had been particularly quiet, which was unsettling.

It hadn’t been the first time there’d been a lull in supernatural activity but right now Ford _needed_ something to happen, something to study, because without that all there was to do was reread his journals and write the same questions on a whiteboard (how why how why how why howwhyhowwhy

howwhyhowwhyHoWwHy _HoWwHy_ ) and he’s already identified what it is he needs to figure out, he knows those questions by heart, has them written on his insides and rushing through his veins

 

and there’s no way to _resolve_ them, no option for _release_.

 

it’s like _drowning_ , like his head is being held under and he’s choking on all these questions he can’t answer

 

and as he’s looking up through the water, as he’s thrashing his head he can see

the distorted image of all the people

all the people that when he’s stronger, when he’s chemically stable he can forget

all the people he has to disappoint

all the people he’s disappointed

and

and

and

he’s just about to pull out his hair

or jump out a window

or set something on fire (fire whatawonderfulchemicalreaction, fire)

and he can’t breath, he _can’t_

his air is all trapped between his two lungs

and

 

and then the doorbell rings, and snaps him back to some semblance of reality,

and he chuckles wearily at himself, and says aloud 

“no need to get high strung, you’ll figure it out”

 

and saunters over to the door and pulls it open to find the town sheriff standing there, smiling pleasantly, and it takes Ford a moment, but then something clicks and he remembers his courtesy and invites the man in, and asks after his partner, and tells him to take a seat on the paper strewn sofa

or the chair stained with some kind of science

 

and after a moment  they are sitting across from one another

and the sheriff clears his throat and says

 

“Some of the kids was out in the woods and they found some sort of cave thing. One of them fell in, scared the others pretty bad, so we went out there and got ‘im out. It dont look like nothing illegal, but there was some hieroglyph things on the walls and I figured, hell, _I_ don’t know what they is but I remember you’re some kinda scientist, so I thought maybe you’d like to take a look?”

 

And Ford could _breath_ again, he could _laugh_ again, and he _did_ because it might not be much but it was the _possibility_ of a lot and so he said

sure, i could do that

in an airy voice that he thought for sure had vacated his vocal chords ages ago

and followed the sheriff outside to his car and got in

 

and as the man beside him drove he could feel it

something was gonna happen

 

.............

 

After a good twenty minutes of winding through the forest, the sheriff humming off-key a song Ford’s sure he knows, but can’t quite place

they come to an opening in the ground  

 

it appears to go straight down for 9 feet or so

before branching off into tunnels, and Ford can hardly contain himself

(this is it this is it this _has_ to be it)

 

so he ties a rope to a nearby tree and tells the sheriff to stay here and

not bothering to wait for a response,

he jumps down the rabbit hole (careful there, alice)

and starts down the left tunnel and

 

already he can see markings on the wall, and he’s encountered these markings before, has a key for decoding them in his journal, so he pulls it out and off the walls he reads the story of other people who wanted answers and his breath catches because they preface their journey with the fact that they _found_ _them_ (and some warning about danger, but who cares about that) and he races through the tunnels,

 

reading as fast as he can

and the story is long (so much backstory

WHY they needed the information,

no one CARES why, just gimme your source, damnit)

but he can feel the story getting closer getting closer

to what he _needs_ , to _answers_

 

and he rounds a corner

and there, painted on the wall in glorious, glittering yellow gold

 

is a triangle

and a summoning incantation

and the word _ANSWERS_

and Ford’s eyes were so wide

so fixated

mothlike, almost

they could see nothing but the light before them

could not read all the words screaming

NONONO WAIT STOP DANGER

that littered all the walls surrounding him

 

All he could see was _Answers_.

 

He couldn’t get the words to fall out of his mouth fast enough

(come on, _come on_ , work)

the summoning charm left his tongue,

And he waited

And waited

And waited

 

But he was still alone

in an empty, echoing tunnel

in a shadowed, lonely cave

 

He tried again.

 

Nothing.

 

He tried again.

 _Nothing_.

 

He could _cry_ or _scream_ or _kick_ something

 

but instead he sighs, and walks away, feeling heavy and useless, and at the same time feeling _numb_ , feeling _empty_

 

........................................................

 

He sits in the forest just on the edge where the trees become scarce. Hugging his journals to his chest, he closes his eyes, trying to think, trying to find _something_ to hold on to other than his books full of questions.

 

but his eyelids are heavy,

his lungs are heavy,

 _he_ feels heavy

 

and as heavy things tend to do,

 

he

falls

 

asleep

 

............................................

 

he opens his eyes,

 

and he is floating in the most peculiar place

the closest thing he has ever seen to it is the clear night sky, for he is surrounded by dark blue and deep indigo tones dotted by what could be stars,

and within the sky like void float knick knacks and books, so many books, volume upon volume, and loose pages of notes

and test tubes full of brightly colored liquid

and ice blue schematics drawn in mid air

 

and Ford looked around in awe and in suspicion

 

one particular scroll caught his eye,

and, gathering his bearings, he approached cautiously,

taking it in his hand

and beginning to read

 

and _then_

behind him there is a noise like the rewinding of a cassette tape

and he whirls his head around

 

to find, floating across from him

 

the glorious, glittering, yellow-gold triangle

 

from down in the empty, echoing tunnel

from down in the shadowed, lonely cave

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, okay, I think that worked? I'm so excited to write the next chapter!  
> The song for this chapter was Between Two Lungs.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the light of my life :)
> 
> Thank all of you lovely people for reading!!


	3. this is a gift (it comes with a price)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deal is struck up.

 

Open your mind to what I shall disclose, and hold it fast within you;

-Dante, Paradiso

 

The triangle speaks

 

and Ford finds he can’t breathe

in the warmest

most electric way

 

_**HiYA, SmaRt GuY** _

 

the triangle has no mouth, and only one eye,

but Ford can feel the smirk

and the wink in _**HiS**_ voice

and he must be visibly shaken because the triangle next says

 

_**WoAH, dON't HaVE a hEaRt aTTacK, YoU’Re nOT 92 yEt** _

 

but dumbfounded as he is, nothing has ever stunned Stanford Pines so thoroughly that his investigative skills don't kick in, and there are so many questions (where am i what _are_ you what the hell am i doing here)

 

but instead for some reason he can’t quite articulate or even place, what comes out of his mouth is

“Who are you?”

 

_**NaMe’S BiLl,** _

_**aNd yOu’rE sTanFoRd PinEs, tHe MaN wHo ChAngED ThE wOrLd,** _

_**bUt We’Re GetTiNG aHeaD oF ouRselVes** _

_**LEt’s RelaX,** _

_**CaRe fOr a gAmE oF iNteRdiMeNsiOnaL cHesS?** _

_**HavE a CuP oF Tea.** _

 

and just like that Ford finds himself in a floating arm chair across from the triangle,

an ice blue floating chess board in between them.

 

and so he looks down intently at the pieces, contemplating his first move, feeling in his chest for that same reason he can't place, can't find, that he needs to _impress_ the triangle being before him,

 

except that when he looks up after making his first move

(pawn to E4)

 

the triangle is gone

in his place is a man

although man might be the wrong word entirely

for the creature sitting in the armchair across from him was definitively not human

 

  _ **hiS**_ hair was golden.

 

not blonde, as human hair might be,

but golden, golden like the precious metal,

golden like a new, expensive necklace,

golden like the triangle that had been painted on the wall of the tunnel

(the empty, echoing tunneldown in the shadowed, lonely cave)

golden like the triangle with which he had been playing chess

 _ **His**_  hair was neither short nor long, and for the most part, was slicked back

and streaked haphazardly with ice blue strands

which match perfectly _**HiS**_ eyes

 

which, coincidently,are also vehemently inhuman 

 

for one, they are _blue_

but not any blue Ford has encountered before

the concentration of it, patterned like fractals of ice

is almost _painful_ to look directly at

and yet equally so _fixating_ that Ford finds he cannot look away

 

for another, they are _glowing_

and not glowing with emotion, like human eyes are known to occasionally do

but glowing as in emitting light of their own

it was faint, and dubious,

but it was just present enough to be unnerving

(and beautiful)

 

and then there are the pupils

like a cat’s, they are lines down the middle of the ice blue

not threatening so much as they are _fascinating_

 

and _**hiS**_ skin is sun kissed, not particularly pale or aggressively tan, but as _**He**_ moves even slightly it _shimmers_

 

 _ **hE**_ is dressed in black slacks and a white button down that is unbuttoned just far enough at the collar (perhaps two buttons down?) that Ford can see the beginnings of electric blue tattoos that he suspects decorate much of the man’s arms and torso

 

and in all of this, Ford wonders and is in awe,

but none of it is what truly snags his attention

no, Ford is used to the supernatural, no matter how amazing it is.

what catches him is the man’s smile

 

lightly rouged lips quirked up in a smirking fashion

 _ **hiS**_ smile is truly welcoming

 

as though _**he**_ wants nothing more than to sit here in this void

surrounded by blue and books and what could be stars

and talk to Ford

 

and that is a new feeling for Ford

to be truly _wanted_ somewhere

not just tolerated, or accepted, but _wanted_

and he sat there with a warm feeling blossoming in his chest ( _wanted_ )

while the man in front of him answered his questions before they passed his lips

 

_**I’m a mUsE; iT's likE tHiS, I.Q. OnCE iN a VeRy LonG whiLE, OncE A CentURy, LeT’s sAY, I pICk OnE oF YoU huMaNS tO iNSpiRe. iT cAn’t Be Just bE anYOne, tRUst me, MOst oF yOU meATsacKs aRE sO STUPID. BuT, TherE aRE, Of cOurSE, eXCEptiOns. YoU, SixEr, arE OnE Of tHEm. YoU Are BRILLIANT. AnD As SuCH, I’vE DEcidED tO, ah, TaKE yOU uNDeR My WIng** _

 

  _ **BiLl**_ says nonchalantly, moving out one of _**His**_ knights,

and Ford, for all he can process, is having trouble understanding.

( _How is the triangle a man now?_ )

How could he, who had failed to find answers, failed to get into a good collage, failed to make his family proud-

 

_**YoU SeLl YOurSElf ShORt, I.Q.; I’Ve wAITeD a LonG TiME FoR A gENius LikE YoU To InSPIrE. YoU JusT NeED A LiTtlE HeLP FrOm A fRiEnD. WE’rE gONna MaKe MiraclES, YoU aND Me.** _

 

 _ **BiLl**_ says, gesticulating somewhat wildly as _**He**_ finishes,

and Ford looks back down at the chess board,

desperately trying to remember the steps to a strong opening,

while _**bILL**_ continues

 

_**As FoR tHE CHanGE iN, ah, FoRM,** _

and suddenly the chessboard is pushed away, and instead there is a hand on his chin, gently forcing his eyes upwards, to meet _**BiLL’s**_   gaze where _**hE**_ was now hovering, just in Ford’s sphere of personal space, kind eyes mischievous, as he leans in

 _ **I tHOughT You MiGht, ah, EnJoY iT**_.

 

 _ **HiS**_ smile deepens for a moment, relishing, perhaps,

the lack of distance between them

Ford was sure _**He**_ could taste his rapid heartbeat in the little air between

and he could, in turn, feeling _something_ radiating off the man ( _ **mUSe?**_ ) before him

and it’s like a gift, like an offering, like something from the other side of the looking glass

it feels like a _hurricane_ in his veins,

 

and then suddenly _**hE**_ pulls back,

 

smile still _tantalizing_

 

and Ford finds he can’t breathe

 

(in the warmest

most electric way)

 

 _ **Soo**_ ,

 _ **BiLL**_ begins, suddenly coy, wide smile replaced again by the knowing smirk from before

(lightly rouged lips quirked into a smirking fashion

 _ **hiS**_ smile is truly welcoming)

 

_**dO wE HavE a DEaL, StANfoRd?** _

 

 _ **hE**_ extends _**hiS**_ hand, waiting for confirmation

 

Ford meets _**hiM**_ halfway and they shake on it,

but it doesn’t feel like a handshake,

it feels like beautiful earthquakes

and devastating music

and _electric_

and _right_ _  
_

 

“Please,” he says,”Call me Ford.”

  


 

  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay okay so that was probs totally out of character, but Bill is an actual bitch to write well, cause he's so sassy and individual but you can't overdo it which is hard to balance
> 
> This chapters song was Rabbit Heart which, let me tell you guys, IS Billford. Just. I mean.
> 
> You made a deal/ and now it seems you have to offer up
> 
> This is a gift/ it comes with a price
> 
> Midas is King/and he holds me so tight/ and turns me to gold in the sunlight
> 
> Particularly that last line. Such feels. I highly recommend it. 
> 
> Comments and kudos light up my world.
> 
> Thank you lovely people, as always, for reading!


	4. i've seen it in the flights of birds (i've seen it in you.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Bill, for all their combined knowledge and wisdom, are so completly clueless.

Love, that moves the sun and the other stars  
\- Dante, Paradiso

Ford never sleeps less than 12 hours now

and he nevers sees his brother’s face

(except when he looks in the mirror)

During the day

he shares with _**BiLl**_ his body

and together they explore the forests

And at night, _**biLL**_ shares with him his mind

and teaches him (that’s not

the right word though, is it)

but that’s the deal,

12 hours of sun and clouds

and eyes turned yellow

12 hours of moon and stars

and intangible odysseys

and no one in Gravity Falls will question

until almost thirty years later

why the sun rises and sets at the same time

every

single

day

..................

And so pass the days, and so pass the nights

The rhythm, the pattern they fall into, however, does nothing to diminish the spontaneity of doing _anything_ with _**BiLL**_. _**He**_ was fickle, and unpredictable, and moody.

but _**he**_ was beautiful, and _**he** _ was wise, and some times Ford thought he could be _consumed_ by _**Him**_ ,   

Somedays Ford  could positively drown in _**BiLL**_

Somedays Ford could swear _**bilL**_ was an ocean

(not the ocean Ford had left behind,

not the one that haunts him,

but a new one, laying out before him,

waiting to cradle him,

to keep him in it’s caves)

Somedays Ford  could positively _drown_ in _**BiLL**_

Somedays Ford thinks he might like to

And today was one of those days,

or rather, one of those nights, as it was nearing 3 am

Ford sits in an arm chair, and beside him _**BilL,**_

clad in an oversized yellow sweater and skinny black jeans,

lies on a chaise lounge,

head by Ford, feet propped up on an ottoman

in the void of blue and indigo

dotted by what could be stars

tonight they sit inside a large glass sphere, accompanied by a stack of tomes on alien species and an ice blue tea kettle mothering a pair of matching teacups

and outside in the void of blue and indigo

it is doing something like raining, and whatever is falling from where ever is above is making a pleasant polyphony,

playing 4/4

and 3/4

and 2/4

and 13/16

all at once

and it is filling up Ford’s head in a way that is both comforting and cutting, weighty but undefined, and Ford hasn’t turned a page in the book in his lap in a good ten minutes, he is only scowling down at it in a way that is tinged with amusement and joy

and Ford hasn’t noticed _**BiLl**_ staring at him with eyes that are as happy as they are confused

Ford doesn’t know, has no capacity to know, that while his head is filling with conflicting time signatures, the ribcage of the man( _ **MusE**_?) beside him

is filling with something _**hE** _ has never encountered before

something like flying

something like falling

something like echos of a city that’s long been overgrown

and somewhere inside _**hiM**_

something that is beating

that was not beating before

and _**hE**_ is not sure he likes it, it keeps making _**Him**_ jumpy,

but it also keeps making _**him**_ feel like _sparkles_

so for now, he deems it permissible (with a mental note to investigate later)

and whispers

_**HeY, SiXeR** _

and relishes at how Ford startles and blushes and looks at him.

Ford, for his part, is glad to have conversation

especially from _**BilL**_

(really, it's _just **BilL**_ he’s glad to have conversation with

and conversation is a stretch in regards to what he’s glad for;

he’d listen to _**BilL**_ read the phone book, for God’s sake)

_**TomoRroW, i waNnA sHow YoU SomEthIn’** _

__

Ford puts down his book into the air beside him, and it drifts slowly away from him in his peripheral vision as he replies, “Oh? Tomorrow? And what’s the nature of this expedition?”

smiling down at _**BiLL**_

_**ThAt’S a SecREt , sMaRt GuY, Bill**_ says, languidly, and part of _**Him**_ , dimly, is deciding that maybe whatever is making _**hiM**_ feel these sparkles is too dangerous for his own good, because he has no idea what what he is saying and Ford’s eyes look brighter than they did before, far brighter,

_**NoW cOmE’Re** _

the rational part of _**BiLl**_ is panicking now, floundering,

but there is much more to _**HiM**_ than what is rational,

and all the rest of _**hiM** _ is working on some instinct and feeling like _sparkles_

“I am here.” Ford replies cheekily, tilting his head to the left and smirking.

 _ **Bill’s**_ blue (bluest) eyes were coy, and Ford noted in his subconscious this shift of demeanor, and its subsequent reaction on him, doing the calculations, not quite willing to admit even to himself the incredibly obvious sum of this equation

_**No,** HERE **HerE, DumMY**_

_**BiLL**_ says

 _ **(he** _ has completely given control over to whatever it is flowing through _**his**_ veins)

as _**He** _ gestures to the space beside _**hiM**_ on the large, golden chaise lounge

“Why?” Ford challenges playfully, as his hand winds its way into _**hiS**_ golden-blue hair.

_**BecaUsE...BecAUse I hAvE wiSDoM to ImPArt, dAmnIT. CoME oN, I’Ll TeLL YoU a StORy.** _

“Well,” Ford replies, “Can’t argue with that.”

and in one fluid motion Ford was lying there next to hIm,

not quite touching, just close enough to feel that _something_ _**BiLL**_ radiated

and after a moment that was too close to something _else_ for either of their comforts

_**BiLL**_ lay on _**his**_ back and Ford lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching, listening as _**hE**_ recounted a misadventure of _**hiS**_ with Socrates in Ancient Greece, the moral of which ended up being, after a very, very, unessecarily long and twisty plot, not to let bees loose in a party

_**pHilosphErs, MaN, hE** _ said, laughing _**ThEY pArTieD HARD.**_

and inside the sphere there is an unspoken truce not to discuss how warm, how nice it felt

( _YoU’rE suPpoSEd tO Be ManIPuLaTiNG HiM, DamNit_ )

          (he’s your _teacher_ [that’s not the right word though, is it] he’s a _guy_ , knock it off)

and outside the sphere in the void of blue and indigo

it does something like rain

and in a town called Gravity Falls

the sun begins to rise

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided that in my particular version of Bill, he genuinely hasn't really experienced love prior to Ford, and is thus sort of confused and swept up by it? Not to say he isn't still incredibly powerful and at least a little evil and sociopathic (more of that to come) but this whole caring thing is surreal and foreign and new to him. 
> 
> This chapter was like. Painfully fluffy. I just kinda wanted to establish their relationship and dynamic. I don't know.
> 
> This chapter's song was heartlines.
> 
> Let me know what ya think!
> 
> As always, thank you lovely people for reading.


	5. I've been scrawling it forever ( but it never made no sense to me at all)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admissions and realizations.

****

Here to us, thou art the noon and scope   
of Love revealed; and among mortal men,   
the living fountain of eternal hope.

-Paradiso, Dante

 

The next day _**BiLL**_ brings Ford out to the wreck

of a spaceship

buried ‘neath the trees

buried ‘neath the grass

In the middle of the forest

 

It is nothing and everything like Ford has ever imagined

something like it might be

 

It manages to be both primitive and modern,

chic and yet still savage, still wild

 

and Ford looks like a kid in a candy store,

he can’t open his eyes wide enough

for all he wants to see

( _aliens_ , there were _aliens_

he isn't sure why this is so shocking when his best friend

[also not the right word, is it]

is currently some sort of interdimensional muse,

but somehow _aliens_ is still breathtaking,

still novel)

 

and as he is dashing about and laughing with elation and taking notes in his journal

with wide eyes, full of excitement, full of possibility,

 _ **BiLl**_ feels that _thing_ again,

the _sparkles_ ,

the strange, jumpy pulsing

that felt like flying

that felt like falling

not in Ford’s body, which _**he**_ was partially inhabiting,

but in the part of _**Him**_ that was watching Ford

and its _electric_

and _foreign_

and _**he**_ really needs to figure out what it is,

this feeling, because it is _wonderful_ ,

and _terrifying_

but, yet again, that part of _**him** _ concerned with _why_ the feeling was there

(and how it might affect _**his** plans_ )

was over-ruled by the rest of _**hiM**_ ,

basking in the feeling,

in the spike of heat _ **he** _ gets when Ford says

 

“This place is amazing!”

 

and _**he**_ doesn’t understand _why_ , but

for some reason he is compelled to watch Ford

and Ford’s happiness, his excitement

( _sO nAiVe, So SmArT_ )

is curling in what would be _**biLl’s**_ stomach

in hot tight coils that  pulsed in time with the _sparkles_ ,

and _**he**_  could lose himself in that feeling, and that

that is _dangerous_ , especially in conjunction with a _human_ ,

 

so _**biLl**_ gives himself a shake,

the nagging part of _ **hiM** _ regaining control,

and _**He**_ has Ford copy down

hieroglyphs off the walls,

a new, different language,

a different breed from that which he had found

in the shadowed lonely caves

(where he found _**BilL**_ ,

where he found _life_ )

 

and they don’t stay there long,

not nearly as long as Ford would like,

because Bill insists there will be other days for idle exploration

and right now they had _**vErY iMpoRtaNT ThiNgS tO Do**_

 

and so back through the forest they go

back to the lab

and Ford is smiling all the way home

and in that smile

 _ **biLL**_ finds an ecstasy he’s never experienced before

.......................

 

Ford spends the day interpreting the hieroglyphs,and with _**BiLL’s**_ coaxing and help he translates out instructions for constructing some kind of interdimensional portal and when he figures out what _**BiLL’s**_ planning on having him do (which doesn’t take him long, he IS smart, if nothing else) he squeals like a little girl and immediately starts to draw up plans and lists and theories

and it’s not just the idea of building a portal like this that has him like this

so _energized_ and _tipsy_

it’s that  _**biLL** _ believes he can.

 

Somehow, just that very thought, that _**biLL**_ _believes_ in him, gives everything _meaning_ and _purpose_ and somehow everything is _sharper_ , _brighter_ , more _intense_ when _**biLL**_ is beside him, when _**biLL**_ says things like, _**Of cOuRsE You CaN Do iT, IQ, I pIcKeD YoU, DiDn’t I?** _ and Ford tries to convince himself that’s just what friendship [also not the right word, is it] feels like but he remembers (painfully, oh god he remembers, of course he remembers, how can he forget) what it was like with his brother (sometimes when he’s alone he can still smell the sea, and there are mornings where he still wakes up and for a moment, believes himself to be on a boat, thinks that just across the room his brother is sleeping) and his brother was his best friend (waswaswaswas, he reminds himself,waswaswaswas), and that felt different than this, he sees his brother everywhere but he doesn’t feel him in his veins and in his muscles the way he feels _**BiLL**_.

 

And that night when he goes to sleep he breaks,

he gives in,

he concedes,

this isn’t friendship,

this is something else.

 

Maybe it’s something about the smile _**BiLL**_ greets him with,

Or something about how _**He**_ looks at Ford,

 

But as their eyes meet in the blue and indigo sphere

kept company only by the dubious stars

The words fight their way out of Ford’s subconscious in big, bold block letters

 

He has a crush on _**BiLL**_

 

He has a _crush_ on _BiLL_

 

he swallows hard, and the words lay heavy on his tongue,but he manages to keep them there, in their place, and asks _**BiLL**_ what he has planned for tonight

 

_**WeLl, sIXeR, YoU’Ve BEeN WorKInG So hARd LaTeLY, I FiGURe YoU NeED tO ReLAX** _

 

“Relax?” Ford hears himself say. “I am....not so good at that.”

 

(Damnit, that was not going to make any of these complicated _feelings_ any easier,

he needs an _objective_ , some kind of _distraction_

because _**BiLL’s**_ lips are looking dangerously delicious

and his hair, so refined, is begging to have his hands running through it,

and Ford’s gotta keep his head,

gotta-)

 

_**AlL tHe MoRE ReaSoN tO LeT Me TeAcH YoU, SmARt Guy. C’meRe, YoU’Re So tEnSE.** _

 

and just like that ( which is often how things happened with _**BiLL**_ ) Ford is sitting up on the golden chaise lounge and _**BiLL’s**_ hands are on his shoulders, on his back, and Ford has only a book he had managed to grab as a buffer as _**BiLL**_ begins coaxing him out of his rigid posture and it feels so _right_ Ford could cry or explode and _**BiLL**_ slips _**HiS**_ hands under Ford’s sweater and the skin-on-skin contact

sparks

like

matches

 

_ignites_

like

_gasoline_

 

and they stay there,

 _feeling_ ,

silently, for a good few minutes, _**BiLL** _ massaging his shoulders, Ford doing his best to read,

but for all he knew he could be holding the book upside down,

he can't process like this,

can't _think_ like this,  

he can only _feel_

and god, he loves it,

and he almost doesn’t catch _**BiLL**_ asking him a question

 

_**HeY SIxER, CaN i...CaN I AsK YoU SoMEtHInG?** _

 

“Of course,” he says, putting his book down into the blue indigo and looking up at those eyes he could lose himself in “Anything.”

 

 _ **BiLL**_ sits down next to him on the chaise lounge, and sighs

 

_**It’S...CoMPliCaTeD, To SaY ThE LeAsT, IQ. BUt MaYbE YoU’Ll SeE SomEtHiNG I DoN'T. YoU HuMANs HaVE...EmoTionS, RiGhT?** _

 

Ford nods at this, edging slightly closer to _**BiLL**_ , who croaks, _**RiGhT**_ , before closing his eyes tightly and  clearing his throat and continuing

 

_**WhAT WoULD It mEaN, HyPoThETIcALlY, IF SoMEoNE, SaY, FeLT ALL...JuMPY aNd....I DoN’T kNow,  HoT aND UnComFortAbLE ArOuND SoMEOnE ElsE, BuT In A WaY ThaT FeLT...NiCe anD KePT DRaWING ThEm BaCK to ThAt PeRSoN?** _

 

Ford feels his breath hitch, feels his heart pound, and tries to find the words in his throat, somewhere in between all the formulas and theories, and, after a beat, he says, in a hoarse voice,

“Those are matters of the...of the heart. And the heart is...hard to translate. But it sounds like attraction. That's...that’s attraction.”

 

 _ **BiLL**_ opens his eyes, and looks, searchingly into Ford’s own,

their faces mere centimeters apart,

their thighs brushing

 

_**AnD...aND WhAT Do HuMaNs UsUaLLy Do WiTh ThIS, ah, AtTrACtAcTIoN?** _

 

 _ **BiLL**_ asks, just above a whisper

 

“I’m no expert,” Ford murmurs, “But I think you’re supposed to tell them.”

 

 _ **BiLL**_ pulls away sharply, angling away from Ford, with a quiet, strangled noise

 

_**WhAT If ThEy DoN’T...YoU KnOw, DoN’T-** _

 

“It’s a risk,” Ford cuts him off, chasing his gaze, taking hiS hand in his own, and _**BiLL**_ turns back to face him. “It’s a risk.” Ford repeats, “but it's worth it.” he finishes in a voice that is barely above a whisper.

 

 _ **BiLL**_ looks down, refuses to meet his eye.

  
_**FoRD**_ , he whispers back _ **I ThInK I’M aTtRacTeD To YoU.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides in corner*  
> Okay so that happened.
> 
> That was. Well. Less than stellar.  
> But cute, kinda?
> 
> This chapter's song was All This and Heaven Too.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the most wonderful things ever. :)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!!


	6. my fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in ( you are the moon that breaks the night for which i have to howl)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension is resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack omigod so that Gravity Falls yesterday was INTENSE FEELS and I can't believe there's only one more episode left and I just.  
> Tears.  
> I mean, I get it, but.  
> Tears.
> 
> In other news, I'm sorry this chapter took so long (writers block ugh) and I hope you enjoy it!

****  
  


Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.

-Dante Aligheri

****  
  


That which could be stars shone kindly down through their blue-indigo cradle

As there, on the yellow-golden chaise lounge, floating amid the colors

lay, intertwined, two young men, sticky with sweat, their ribcages shuttering,

falling and rising in noticeable rythm, not speaking,

only _feeling_ ,

and if one had looked closer,

they might see the smile in the blonde man’s eyes

shining, glowing, fixated so completely on the other man,

as though he was the only thing worth looking at.

they might see how flushed their faces were,

how sure, how steady the arms of the bespectacled man were

holding the blonde that lay mostly on top of him close,

as close as he could

as though he never wanted there to be any space between them ever again

but there was no one to look closer,

no one to see or marvel in all this,

only that which could be stars,

shining kindly up above,

keeping watch as the night slowly turned to the day.

...............................

_**FoRD**_ , he whispers _**I ThInK I’M aTtRacTeD To YoU.**_

there is a millisecond in which nothing happens, and the only noise is the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock, floating not far off in the distance

there is a millisecond that is frozen

and then

and _then everything_ happens and it is warm, and clumsy, and messy

and nothing like Ford could ever have imagined

and it is like waves of sunbeams rolling through his insides

like all his pistons are firing at once,

and his brain is chanting the chemical formuals

of the hormones he knows are to blame

( _dopamine adrenaline oxytocin_

he can _feel_ it in his _veins_ )

and yet somehow he can’t really bring himself to care about the science of what lay before him, of what he was doing, as he moaned, low and guttural into _**BiLL’s**_ mouth, his hands in _**BiLL’s**_ hair, _**BiLL’s**_ own on his hips, gripping so hard _**hE**_ was sure to leave bruises,

pinning Ford down to the yellow-golden chaise lounge  

_**So**_ ,

_**BiLL** _ said, between pants of breath,

pausing as his tongue darted out of his grinning mouth to run across  his lips

his vulnerability once again gone and replaced by his usual swagger and confidence

_**i TaKe IT tHE fEeLinG iS, aH, MuTuAL?** _

Ford felt his face flush, more so, even, than it already had, as he nodded, and opened his mouth to try to speak,

but before he could discover there were no words he could say

(which he already knew, subconsciously)

 _ **BiLL**_ pressed a figure to his lips.

_**NoNE oF ThAT, SixeR. YoU StARt TaLkiNg, YoU’LL StArT ThInKiNg, sTaRT WoRrYiNg, aNd wE wOuLDn’T WaNt ThAt, nOw WoULD wE?** _

In lieu of an answer, Ford pulled _**BiLL’s**_ finger into his mouth with his tongue

and began to suck on it

at this _**BiLL’s**_ eyes lit up, full of mischief, of life,

and he moans softly and says

_**YoU kNow IQ, yOu NevER fAiL to SurPrisE mE** _

He pulls _**hiS**_ hand away, and almost reluctantly, Ford lets _**hiM**_

but he is immediately vindicated as _**BiLL**_ tangles _**HiS**_ hands in Ford’s hair

and their lips meet again,

ferocious, like wolves

and clothes are undone,

strewn into the possibly starlit void,

and it as though everything he did not know he held within him had been released

as he drags his teeth across _**BiLL’s**_ chest, his ears ringing of the blonde man’s moans,

feeling, on his tongue, the beating of _**HiS**_ heart

and in the blue indigo void their moans mingle, and blur together, as does their sweat and their limbs and it is at once so _energizing_ and _exhausting_

it is a hunt

it is a dance

and _**BiLL’s**_ lip is bleeding but he still kisses Ford aggressively,

and Ford finds he relishes the taste of the other man’s blood on his tongue

and yet it is so _loving_ ,

so _tender_

hands on cheeks

and eyes in awe

and they do not collapse until it is very near morning,

and even when they do,

neither shuts their eyes,

so absorbed are they in one another

all under the watchful gaze

of that which could be stars.

......................................

nothing changes.

( _everything changes_ )

their days are still colored

with yellow eyes and explorations and advancements

but nights were now dedicated to a different (a higher, perhaps) cause

in the daytimes Ford works with diligence and determination on the portal,

while most of _**BiLL**_ looks on, watches

and feels that thing, the _sparkles_

the _falling_ ,

the _flying_

the _beating_ in _**his** _ chest

grow, and surge, and cloud **_his_ ** thoughts in way that **_he_** hadn’t though possible

It wasn’t like _**he**_ was unfarmiliar with human intimacy

_**he’d** _ certainly engaged in physical pursuits with humans before, **_he_** was actuallly quite experienced, and it had always been pleasent, but with _Ford_

with Ford it was like watching the birth of a galaxy

with Ford it was like a supernova in beneath his skin

and _**BiLL**_ supposed it probably had to do with that _attraction_ Ford had mentioned, which was, in fact, entirely new to   _ **him,**_ and he was glad Ford had told him what it was, exactly

but even having a name for it did not quell the sheer _sensation_ of it, so _constant_ and undying

And as _**hE** _ holds Ford close late one night,

on the yellow-golden chaise lounge,

Ford’s head resting on _ **HiS** _ chest as he reads from a long and complex tome,

humming quietly to himself,

it occurs to _**BiLL**_ that he has never felt so _happy_ , so content, so _alive_ as he does in moments like these, in which Ford is _**HiS**_ and _**He** _ is Ford’s

and that is all there is.

 

...................................

it is not until a full four months later

(four _blissful, beautiful_ months)

that Ford decides he needs to recruit an extra pair of hands.

It’s a very simple matter, really, he’s no engineer, he’s a physicist and biologist at heart, and the physical _building_ of the portal is really an engineer’s work.

And so he calls up his old collage friend, Fiddleford,

(who still sounds _exactly_ like he did at graduation)

who immediately agrees with fervor and says he’ll be up in a week's time to start work

pleased with himself, Ford gets back to work, happy that in a week's time it will be someone else doing the assembling and bolting while he worked on his theorems and calculations

it does not occur to Ford once that this will change anything

......................................

nothing changes

**  
(everything changes)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was. Okay I think?
> 
> Anyhow, just a heads up, even though we're still in Paradiso, the next chapter will mark the start of our downward descent, so buckle you seatbelts, angst and turmoil will be beginning shortly.
> 
> The song for this chapter was Howl.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the actual lights of my life.
> 
> Thank you lovely people for reading!! :)


	7. it's the purest element ( but it's so volatile)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can go wrong.  
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am so sorry about how late this is firstly. 
> 
> Secondly, just for referance, the first part of this chapter takes place in the four months before Ford calls Fiddleford, because I couldn't resist myself.
> 
> Enjoy!

As one who sees in dreams and wakes to find the emotional impression of his vision still powerful.

\- Dante, Paradiso

 

Kissing _**BilL**_ wasn’t like Ford had though kissing would be.

Or rather, it wasn’t like he had been taught kissing should be.

not that much of anyone had taken the time to teach Ford about anything even remotely related to _kissing_ (let alone _romance_ )

Sure, there had been his father, but that had consisted of _don't get girls pregnant don't bring them into this house don't let them affect your grades_ which was honestly less than helpful to Ford, considering he wasn't even interested in, _well_. In.

There had been his brother, as well, always pestering him over _when are you gonna get yourself a girl, Sixer_ and _that Angie’s not half bad, and she's pretty nerdy too, eh, Poindexter?_ or worse, his brother would sneak out late at night and come home to regale him with stories of you wouldn't believe it, Ford, _she was so HOT and her lips were so soft and_

And that was really just depressing, especially now,

(especially when any thought of his brother is drenched in phantom salt water

which could be tears

or it could be the sea)

But those stories _had_ given him what he thought had been a pretty accurate description of kissing.

But kissing _**BiLl**_ wasn't like anything he might have thought based on those stories his brother had told him .

It wasn't even close.

It was difficult to describe which, as a scientist, was _annoying_ , because he deals in exact measures, in that which can be explained, and what he feels, atom to atom, in his veins, when _**BiLL**_ has him pressed against a bookshelf, biting at his lower lip, whispering into his ear in some ethereal language, holding him close, what he feels then he can't find _words_ for, as hard as he tries

And he tries very hard.

He settles first on what he feels is an apt comparison between that which rules his veins when _**BiLl**_ is near and that which one might feel if they were free falling, sky diving, as the best description

as he and _**Bill**_ lie lazily

in a field of large,incandescent puffs of white-glowing-blue on stalks of yellow-gold,

something like flowers,

somewhere in the blue-indigo void.

 _ **Bill**_ lay mostly on top of him, stealing each breath from his lungs only to breathe it back into him, and Ford happily gives him this for as long as he pleases, which is for a very long while, before he leans back, laying his head on Ford’s chest, and, with heavy lidded eyes, begins to pontificate on proper precautions one must take before attempting dimension jumping, and Ford is rapt, and takes in all that he is able.

He decides, one Wednesday,

when the void is again doing what could be raining,

that it wasn't free falling, that implied _dangerous_ , and really that wasn't this.

A better way to explain _it_ , this _feeling_ , would be in the numbers of pi, infinite and swirling and completely nonsensical but everywhere, and so _important_ , so _right_ as they kiss in the maybe rain, _**Bill's**_ arms looped lightly around his neck, Ford’s hands on _**Bill's**_ hips, and they hold each other and Ford almost slips on that which was not _quite_ familiar enough to be rain, because whatever it is, it's _wet_ , but _**BiLl** _ catches him and he hums appreciatively into _**hiS**_ mouth as they continue to kiss, hands mapping each other's skin, until _**BilL**_ takes Ford’s hand and leads him back to their maybe glass sphere that they use for shelter in times like this.

The sphere holds a desk heavy laden with books and a blackboard tonight, and they work at cracking an algorithm for the remainder of the night, only pausing occasionally for a stolen kiss.

But no, he muses, late on a Sunday,

as Bill chatters mindlessly on the properties of fire and how they change from dimmension to dimmension,

as they sit, intertwined, once again on the yellow golden chaise lounge under what could be stars,

this _feeling_ can't be fully captured in numbers or free falls,

it is more like _music_ , inexplicable and wild and refined and _pulsing_ ,

And Ford hums to himself as he melts down into BilL’s embrace, wondering faintly how he had lived before this, how he had been so _blind_ , so _empty_ , as his hands wander with _purpose_ down HiS chest, undoing buttons and kissing,

 _kissing_ like _music_ ,

like pi and like freefalls,

And little is accomplished that night.

\-------------------------------------

Fiddleford arrives just as expected, on a Monday morning.

Ford is making breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, which _**BiLl**_ had recently discovered when Ford had ordered them on a whim in the town dinner. Since then, _**BiLl**_ has declared they are the best thing to come out of human existence { _**ExCePT fOr YoU, of CouRSe, SixEr**_ } and had taken to demanding them whenever _**he**_ could. This particular morning, however, _**BiLl**_ had not immediately followed him into the waking realm, citing research in other dimensions, which _**he**_ did sometimes. But regardless, when Ford went to go make breakfast, his hands found the flour and the blueberries meandered out of the fridge and before he knew it, the griddle was greased.

****  
  


He was putting the first batch on to cook, revelling in the sizzle and going over equations in his head, oblivious to everything but the task before him and the muse whom he could still taste on his lips when the doorbell rang, and Ford suddenly remembered his old friend and their arrangement. Quickly throwing on trousers and lowering the heat of the burner on the stove, he ran to open the door.

There, holding two duffel bags and a backpack, stood Fiddleford, glasses slightly eskew, as they usually were, clothes slightly disheveled, but with a smile still bright enough to light up a whole college library, let alone Ford’s modest little shack.

“Come on in!” Ford says, smiling himself now, and shows Fiddleford to the table in the kitchen (which was partially claimed by test tubes and hasty notes) and they talk of old days, and how nice it is to see each other, and how have you been, fine thanks, you wouldn't believe, and Ford serves him blueberry pancakes and sits down next to him, laughing a little, having forgotten exactly how easy it was to talk to Fiddleford, how nice it was to be around him.

\---------------------

_**BiLl** _ comes home ( comes back to Ford, really, but Ford kind of _IS_ home now, which is weird and irrational in a way that he really shouldn't indulge in but it feels so _nice_ )

_**BiLl**_ comes home, thinking of the algorithm he was bringing back, but also thinking of kissing Ford, thinking of nights colored by blue and indigo and soft touches

_**BilL**_ comes home but before he can possess (that's a bit of a harsh word,isn't it) Ford, as has become their ritual, he is frozen,

Because there is a _human_

In their _house_

Talking to _his Ford_

Eating _blueberry pancakes_

_**BiLl**_ feels a new feeling bubbling in his veins, and he

_dOeSn'T_

_**LiKe iT**_.

****  
  


 

****  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Things are abrewing.
> 
> The song I used for this chapter was strangeness and charm.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me so happy, you guys are the absolute best!!
> 
> As always, thank you lovely people for reading! :)


	8. in the deep cathedral ( where you cannot breathe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complicated feelings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter we see bill beginning to experience sadness and jealousy and insecurity and all those other nasty emotions love can sometimes make you feel for the first time.
> 
> Also, Ford is kinda clueless. I mean. Mostly.
> 
> Sorry this is kinda late.
> 
> Enjoy!

****

Thus, when the matter of a vow has so

much weight and worth that it tips every scale,

no other weight can serve as substitute.

-Dante Aligheri

It isn’t angry.

Because _**BiLl**_ has felt angry before, often,

knows it as well as he knows deals and amusement

and this isn’t angry

this feeling he gets watching that _human_ sit and eat

_his blueberry pancakes_

with

his...

(his?)

_his...SixER_

this isn’t angry

this runs deeper, purer,

and it _hurts_ ,

it hurts in a way he’s pretty sure he’s not even supposed to be able to feel

and even if he is

it should be _illegal_ to hurt this bad

it should be _AgAiNsT tHe RuLES_

and that means something coming from him, he hates rules

but it hurts _that much_

and it doesn’t only _hurt_

it feels like it's dragging him _down_

like it’s coloring all his yellow gold _blue_

so blue he feels _purple_

( _not the blue indigo that cradles the maybe stars in the reality he **made** for Stanford_

_a different blue_

_a darker blue_

_the blue of the ice cold ocean that beckons_

_men off of piers)_

he wants to say

_STANFORD **WhAT ThE** HELL **iS** GOING ON HERE_

he wants to say

_**MAkE**_ _hIM LEAVE. NOW._

he wants to say

_**WhY** , WHY **wOuLD yOu** INVITE **a hUmAn** HERE_

_**To** OUR PLACE_

but what scares _**BiLL**_ even more than the heavy, blue hurt

is that he _can’t_

he can’t string any of those words together.

all he can muster is a quiet

_**Wh...wHaT?** _

in Stanford’s direction,

a raw sort of whisper that the _**oThER huMaN**_ can’t hear

Stanford then tells his _no good, meatsack companion_

to make himself comfortable and politely excuses himself up to his bedroom,

shooting _**BilL**_ a mental

_meet me upstairs, don’t worry, I’ll explain_

But it takes _**BiLl**_ longer than it should

to stop being rooted

to

the

spot

........................................

Ford chastised himself lightly on his way upstairs for not thinking to mention Fiddleford to _**BiLl**_ , but at the time it had seemed so... _.irrelevant._ Fiddleford was just there to do the busywork, he’d have nothing to _do_ with _**BiLl**_ , he wasn’t even going to know about _**BiLl**_ , because that would probably just scare him away

( _and Ford would be j e a l o u s if BilL took a liking to anyonelse_

_but there’s no reason to acknowledge that,_

_to need to even dignify that with a thought because_

_there’s no reason to be jealous,_

_because_

_he is **BilL’s** ,_

_and **BiLl** is **his**_

_and nothing will ever change that)_

and with that thought Ford blushes as he pushes his bedroom door open.

He flops down on his bed, and contemplates going to sleep, as that does always make communication easier

( _and then he can taste the music on **BiLl’s** lips,_

_feel his heartbeat,_

_hold him)_

but he _does_ have a visitor downstairs

and there’s nothing that _necessitates_ sleep

so instead he sits up cross legged and meditates in preparation for _**BiLl.**_

It takes **_BiLl_ ** longer than it should

to get up the stairs

but what can Ford do?

So he sits, and waits,

and thinks about his _**BiLl**_ ,

for whom sonnets should be composed,

if he was any kind of poet, he’d already be writing them

about the blue of his eyes, relecting back the blue of that blue-indigo sky

about the refined hair and how wild, how free it becomes after he’s run his finers through it, a shock of blonde and electric blue in the late hours of the night,

when the studying is done,

and things have pettered off and they are but holding each other

and he thinks about all of this, sighing, heartfelt

and waits

until finally,

after some unquantifiable amount of time suspended in waiting,

he feels _**BiLl**_ begin to slip into his mind.

“Are..are you okay?” he hears himself ask, but _**BiLl**_ is uncharacteristically quiet.

_Why...why is he here?_ he says finally, quietly, and his voice is tainted with something out of place, something he has never heard there, something that reminds of, of all things, his brother (and the sea

and ships

and shipwrecks)

but he doesn’t know what to do with that, so he just says,

“He’s just going to work downstairs. Don’t worry, I haven’t told him about you, or..or us, or anything, really,he’s really just here to do busywork, so I have more time for...other things.”

and hopes it’s the right thing to say.

_**BiLl**_ knows he is being sincere. Everything about Stanford is sincere, and that is part of what makes him.....

special.

and so the feeling abates a little, as he hears his voice, as he feels himself settle into the familiar bones,

But that’s not to say the feeling has left _**BiLl**_ ,

because it hasn’t.

it’s still pooling in the soles of his feet and the tips of his fingers

and he can’t help but think that maybe something’s wrong with him

because the warmth of Stanford is all around him,

his awkward, open affection

and the _sparkles_ are still there too

but this new, heavy blue is threatening to overpower them,

and yet somehow, he can’t voice any of this.

so instead he just says,

_Oh. Okay. Why don’t you go get him settled, I’ll see you tonight_

__

............................................................

That night _**BiLl**_ is waiting for Ford when he finds his way back to their blue-indigo void

and there is no pretense of study,

he shoves him up against the nearest piece of furniture,

(which happens to be a bookshelf)

and he kiss him hard

and holds him too tight

and sucks bruises down his neck

That night is animalistic

and blood is spilled (and thoroughly enjoyed) and clothes are torn

and in the end of it they wind up

curled together

on the yellow-golden chaise lounge

Ford’s broader frame, stronger arms

holding _**BiLl’s**_ slighter, lithe body to his chest

and _**BilL**_ melts into his hold,

feels his shoulder blade flush up against Ford’s heart

and _**BiLl**_ is still panting

and Ford has his eyes closed

humming contentedly

so _**BiLl**_ pushes the heavy blue down

and hums along

and whispers hoarsely

_never_

_let me_

_go_

 

****  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That's that for now. More to come soon!
> 
> The song for this chapter was Never let Me Go.
> 
> Comments and kudos are amazing,
> 
> And as always, thank you, thank you, thank you lovely people for reading :)


	9. i never knew daylight to be so violent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Bill are both bad at communication.
> 
> Also, some Fiddleford backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's back!!  
>  I am so sorry for the entirely too long, completly unexpected hiatus, a whole bunch of stuff happened all at once and I was sorting it out and this sort slipped through the cracks for a bit but never fear, I would never abandon you guys like that, the story must go on :)
> 
> That said, this chapter deals alot more with Fiddleford than any previous chapters or any future ones, but I felt like I needed to dig into who he was and why he was that person because so much of what happens between Bill and Ford next revolves around Fiddleford. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Turn back to look again upon your own shores;

Tempt not the deep, lest unawares,

In losing me, you yourselves might be lost.

-Dante

 

Fiddleford learns pretty quickly that Ford’s center of gravity was  _ vastly  _ different than it had been in college. 

 

Which was understandable, of course, they were grown ups now, with grown up ambitions and grown up responsibilities, and grown up theology.

 

Fiddleford had hoped

(secretly,

_ ever _ so secretly)

 

that perhaps Ford had evaded this  _ How’s the stock market, have you found a wife yet _ stuff, what with inviting him to help build an interdimensional portal,

 

but one glance and it was enormously clear that Ford’s heart wasn’t in the portal for the portal’s sake itself.

 

Thankfully,  _ thankfully,  _ it didn’t seem to be in the stock market either just yet, which meant only one thing:

 

a girl.

 

Or rather, a someone, because Fiddleford was always fairly certain Ford was,  _ well,  _ like him, and that was part of the reason Fiddleford had been so excited to come work on the portal, because back in California,

 

in dry, unforgiving California,

 

where the desert stretched as far as you could see out of your garage, 

 

where the clouds taunted your tongue, and your cracked, bloodied lips,

 

where the only other people there are people  _ waiting _ to be people, too afraid to take a chance, too  afraid to take an outstretched hand and a  _ can I interest you in some coffee?  _ if someone might see, if it might ruin their chances,

 

where your parents call you everyday to ask where your wife is,  _ oh wait,  _ that’s right, you don't have one,  _ why is that? _

 

get yourself a real job,

 

get yourself a wife,

 

get yourself out of dry, unforgiving California

 

and Ford had been so nice when they had been in college,

(and handsome)

and incredibly smart

(and handsome)

and kind hearted, and sympathetic,

(and handsome)

and he seemed like a worthy research partner

(with that shaggy brown hair and those  _ eyes) _

 

and “working on a classified and funded research project in Colorado” would sound a lot better to his parents than sitting on the floor of his garage in California, playing with wires and praying for a miracle.

 

So Fiddleford had come with haste to the secluded cabin in the middle of the woods.

 

Only to find in Ford’s eyes the sort of glaze that meant only one thing.

 

a girl.

 

Or rather, a someone,

 

and Fiddleford was fairly convinced it was a someone, because Ford never once offered up a name, or even directly spoke about his obvious affections, and that led Fiddleford to conclude their relationship was one that would have to be kept fairly in the dark.

 

But try as he might, Ford betrayed his love with every other word uttered, so afflicted as he clearly was.

 

When they spoke, he often made reference to a “mentor”, never elaborating on an identity, but whenever said “mentor” came up in conversation, which was quite, quite often,

Ford would blush pink

like cotton candy from the boardwalk he used to dream about in their dorm

( _ Fiddleford knew,  _

_ because when things got real bad Ford  _

_ would sometimes tell him these things,  _

_ like about how quickly cotton candy _

_ bought from a boardwalk, dropped off a makeshift boat _

_ would dissolve into the ocean) _

pink like fresh cut strawberries,

( _ pink like raw meat _ )

 

and through his blush, Ford would stutter and murmur, and stare off into the distance,

 

and to be honest,

 

to be honest, Fiddleford was happy for him. 

 

Fiddleford liked Ford, in a good, honest, not-in-any-way-damnable manner,

and Ford deserved to be happy.

 

Ford had already given him  _ so much, _

 

a friend,

a job,

( _ an excuse) _

 

and Ford was  _ so happy, _

 

and it was obviously the fault of this “mentor”, whom Ford spent all of the time he spent with Fiddlefor talking about,

 

but Fiddleford was perfectly content to listen to him blather on about some minutia his “mentor” had taught him, while fiddling with screws on his giant metal dream machine,

 

as day after day passed and, soon, week after week.

 

Happiness was infectious, afterall.

 

..............................................

 

The heavy blue feeling wasn't going away.

 

And  **_BiLl_ ** _ HaTeD  _ **_iT_ ** _. _

The only time it wasn’t there, pulsing through his veins, pumping through his head was when Ford was holding him, 

 

and even then it wasn’t gone, it was just lessened greatly, overwhelmed by the  _ sparkles  _ and  _ warmth  _ Ford brought with him-

 

but Ford was spending more time than promised in the basement with that  **_No GoOd_ ** _ MeAtSaCk  _ **_eXcuSe fOr A COMpAniON_ ** , and less time with  **_BiLl,_ **

 

And he wouldn’t even tell him what they got up to down there

would only shrug and say “nothin”

or “you know, building the portal”

and then ask  **_BiLl_ ** a whole bunch of unrelated questions

and change the subject,

 

and it felt like he was disappearing, in plain sight

 

and the blue just got deeper, and  _ darker _

(an ocean cold and silent

beckoning him off that dock)

 

and the worst part of all this was,  _ NOnE _ **_oF tHiS_ ** was going as it was supposed to.

 

BiLl had investors, and they were expecting a dimension to destroy, and he just wasn’t sure he wanted to give them that anymore.

 

Of course, that wasn’t  _ really  _ an option, they’d tear him to pieces, 

 

but what he could do was escape with his  **_SiXeR_ ** to  _ elsewhere _ ,

to  _ beyond, _

to somewhere  _ beautiful _

(somewhere away from  _ meddlesome meatsacks _ )

 

and be done with the destroying business.

 

But he couldn’t do any of that with this blue hanging on him, could barely  _ make  _ plans, let alone  _ carry them out  _ with the weight of this blue pushing him down

 

and

and

and  **_BiLl_ ** needed a drink 

 

so even though it was getting late,

 

and he really should be getting ready for Ford,

he felt let himself slip back into his own dimension,

 

just for this once, 

 

to lose this blue

 

.........................

 

“So.” said Fiddleford, clearing his throat and putting down his wrench and wiping the grime off his hands on to his shirt, sitting on a crate, “ you’ve been awfully quiet.”

 

Ford hummed noncommittally, distractedly.

 

“How’s the, um, mentor, then?” he dared ask.

 

The silence grew exponentially heavier.

 

“He didn’t show last time we were supposed to meet up. I’m. I’m worried about him, I guess, but he’s very busy, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

 

Ford seemed convinced.

>   
>  Fiddleford was not so sure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, what's gonna happen?
> 
> The song for this chapter was No Light No Light.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the lights of my life, and you people are seriously wonderful and I'm so, so sorry I kept you waiting for so long.
> 
> Thank all you lovely people for reading!!!!


	10. he saw what i had done (he sang about what I'd become)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill returns to his home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> So we're coming up on the end of Paradiso, only a few more chapters till Purgatory, and as things get sadder the writing gets harder, so I will definitely start writing some fluffy one offs on the near future.
> 
> On that note, if any one has any requests, fluffy or otherwise, for one offs with these two, you are welcome to drop me a line in the comments. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

how hard a path it is for one who goes  
descending and ascending others' stairs.  
-Dante, paradiso

 

BiLl glided, melancholy,down the orange-mauve streets of his dimension.

He’d never been away so long as he had been to be with Sixer.   
He hadn’t missed it here,  
not really,   
he hadn’t had the time, he’d been busy,   
and now that he was here,   
now that he was home  
he’d have thought he’d feel at ease  
in his prime, in his territory,  
he should feel vindicated  
he should feel confident  
he should feel pleased.  
( and really, he shouldn’t feel too much at all)

but he did feel.

He felt  
Weird.   
Off. 

He felt like he was walking the lanes of a movie set,   
or some foreign planet where he knew none of the customs,   
and had no one on the inside,  
no one to go on the lamb with,  
no one, even, to wordlessly do his bidding  
no one  
no one and nothing but his willpower and charisma.

(both of which he was running ParTiCULaRLy LoW on)

no one  
and maybe that was because he did have no one

he had his investors   
but he couldn’t very well confide in them,  
especially given that he  
DiDn’T aCTuALLy WanT To Go ThrOuGH WITh tHE ConTrACt  
(you’re gonna get yourself killed, Cipher)

the one he had negotiated just beyond the golden doors of his gilded mansion  
doors he stood in front of now  
doors that he couldn’t seem to bring himself to open  
(SiXeR’s WhOLe wOrLd, do you really wanna give them siXEr’s WhoLE WoRld)

He had his firm, his team, his co-negotiators  
(there’s not much choice, is there?)  
his Friends?  
(He’s NEveR goNnA fOrGiVE YoU)  
but Friends didn’t seem an appropriate title anymore  
(NeVeR)  
SiXeR had explained Friends to him  
(He LOVES YOU)  
and Friends implied affection, Friends implied caring,  
(do you really wanna give that up?)   
and while he,  
and Pyronica,  
and 8-ball  
and the others certainly harbored a shared instinct of self preservation  
(there’s not much choice, is there?)   
there was no sense of   
of love  
(there’s not much choice, is there? you love him back)  
of any kind of love   
of any shared hope for the future  
or shared nostalgia for the past  
or shared enthusiasm for the present  
(there’s not much choice, is there)

so really he didn’t have his investors  
or his firm

but he does have the route to The Easy Greenhouse Bar memorized,

and so he lets his feet float in that direction

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he gets there it's not packed,   
but it's busy enough that nobody notices him come in,   
and the barkeep, a rather large, green and orange fleecey fellow in a tidy black apron, doesn’t even look up as he orders his Time-Gin, straight,  
just nods, fills his order, and slides it to him down the bar.

and he picks it up and takes it   
to the darkest corner he can find,   
and he nurses his it  
and listens to the band,

a small affair headed   
by a periwinkle skinned young woman with a freckled face  
and no hair to speak of  
and insect-esque gossamer wings that fluttered slightly as she swayed.  
She wore black leather pants like a second skin   
paired with equally tight leather jacket and   
and equally black lip varnish  
and she sang with an ethereal and rich voice sings about deception 

She was accompanied by a large sloth-like creature with see-through hands on an organ-like structure that plays different breezes  
and a third, a rather tall potted fern, that played the triangle and, occasionally, used its own pot as a drum. 

He sat in the darkest corner,   
and he listened,  
and he felt  
horrendously

 

He was feeling so hard he doesn’t realize someone has joined him  
in his dark corner

“WoaH, ChiEf. WhAtChA dOiNg HerE? i Didn’T EveN REaLizE YoU wERe BaCk!”

BiLl’s eyes startled open to see Amorphous sitting in the chair across from him.

(shit, what now, be cool, Cipher)

 

“i,uM, I’m onLY BaCk MoMEnTARiLY. aLL iS GoiNg aS PLaNneD, No NeED To WoRrY.”

Am smiled a sympathetic sort of smile, and turned to the band.

“tHeY’Re RaTHeR dReArY, aRen’T tHey?”

“i MeaN, i GuEsS, BuT i, DoN’T KnOW, ThEy sEeM To SoRt Of...”

“UnDErStaND?” Am finished for him, turning back to face him with the same sympathy painted face.

“yEs.”replied BiLl, after a pregnant pause “HoW DiD YoU...”

 

“Oh BoSS” they said wistfully “YoU’Ve GoT iT BaD.”

“HoW Do YoU MeAN?”BiLl demanded, perhaps too quickly, and with too much venom

Am looked back to the girl on stage.

“BoSs. YoU ArEn’T ManiFEsTiNG YoUR TrUe ForM. ThE OnLy ReaSoN I reCoGniSeD YoU is ThAt JoiNT CoN We PuLLeD iN BaLi.”

BiLl looked down at himself in horrified realization. 

Sure enough, he saw his human manifestation, not his usual triangle, two fleshy hands and feet, as seen through two eyes, and oh crap, 

As if reading his thoughts, Am interrupted with a hurried  
“DoN’T TrY tO cHanGE BaCk NoW. iF it is wHat i ThiNK iT iS, ThaT WiLl onLy MakE iT WorSe.”

BilL looked at them in fear, in several shades of blue and red, which prompted a 

“DoN't WorrY ChiEF, i KnOw a DoC if iT’s SeriOUs.iF iT’s VerY FaR GoNe.”

“wh...what?”

Am only sighed.

“YoU’Re PrOBabLy DevElOpiNG...EmOtiONs.”they said, in a careful and nervous tone.

BilL didn’t quite know what to call what he felt.

It felt like what he saw in the eyes of those he’d killed once they’d realized what was about to happen. 

It felt like sudden cliffs and the dimensions with no light, no sun.

It felt like being held under water, thrashing about as the salty taste assaults your tongue and fills your lungs.

It felt like he’d opened his mouth to scream and shout and he couldn’t make a sound. 

It felt like he was about to be sick.

 

....................................................

Ford stood at the stove, flipping another batch of blueberry pancakes and setting them to cool. 

This was the thirteenth batch this morning.

His eyes seemed stung by something Fiddleford couldn’t see, red and puffy with bags underneath  
and they sagged,   
heavy with something unintelligible from where Fiddleford was standing,   
but piercingly determined nonetheless 

suddenly, setting the spatula down, he drew in a sharp breath  
and headed down to the basement,   
muttering something about work-ethic,  
and becoming worthy of a muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness gracious, my chickadees.
> 
> This chapter's song was Bird Song by F+tM.
> 
> Comments and kudos light up my life, and you guys are amazing!
> 
> Thank all you lovely people for reading.


	11. i was dead when i woke up this morning (i'll be dead before the day is done)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford is confused and sad. Bill is confused and sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That finale killed me.  
> I cried and then I cried and then I wrote this.  
> This is late, and I don't really have a viable excuse.   
> Writer's block. 
> 
> After this, three more chapters until the end of Paradiso, and then we plunge headfirst into the sadness.
> 
> Enjoy!

Should we desire a higher sphere than ours,

then our desires would be discordant with

the will of Him who has assigned us here

-Dante

 

Am’s apartment was barren and practical, with an air of temporariness about it.

 

BiLl gulped, looking out the window at the dark, dank alleyway the complex backed onto, shivered slightly as he felt his lungs (lungs that  _ shouldn’t be there)  _ inflate and deflate, filling and rejecting, filling and rejecting, the rancid air that tasted of rot and slime.

 

**_“tHe HeLl aRE YoU DoInG dOwN HerE, Am?”_ ** BilL heard himself intone, gruffly, turning back to face the colorful creature currently locking the door,

 

But even Am’s colors were dulled in the grey and soot overtones, in the shadows

and BilL finds himself overwhelmed again ( _ PuLl YouRsElf TogeTHer, MaN)  _

 

“I fOunD mYseLF in a Similar SituatiOn Not LOnG aGo. I NeEDeD sOmEWheRe tO rEGroUp.”

 

BiLl nodded numbly.

 

“Go On. givE iT a gO.” 

 

BiLl looked at them intently before sighing once, 

slightly

and forcibly shifting to his natural form.

 

It hurts like nothing ever had,

like fire burning through his skin from the inside out

like his skin had been  _ turned _ inside out

like everything was bearing down on him and it’s

hazy, everything was

hazy, nothing was

alright, nothing was

okay

and Ford was at the helm somehow, he 

could see him up above 

and he faintly wanted to smile, he faintly

wanted to  _ vomit _

and every inch of him was revolting against every

other inch

and he

couldn’t find the energy to care

 

he heard Am say 

“oH GOD. Oh. Oh MY GODS.”

 

and then there is nothing but a pukey, pastel orange light.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

BiLl had been gone for a little over two days when Ford began to cry.

 

He hadn’t  cried like this in some time.

 

Fiddleford finds him hunched over a workbench in the basement, hair unkempt and cheeks red and raw and eyelids tightly closed like sorrowfully clenched fists, choking on sob after sob 

 

and Fiddleford hasn’t seen him like this since their college days

since Ford would lean on the vanity in the bathroom, gripping the sides hard with his hands as though he wanted to break it, to crush it, staring at his own reflection, staring at someone else, staring at his shortcomings, his temper,

 

Stanley

he would shout at the mirror, angry and vindictive,

Stanley,

he would whisper, forlorn and lost

 

and he would sink to the floor and he would cry so many tears Fiddleford could have gone into shipbuilding and made some serious money

 

but he didn’t, because that was honestly to on-the-nose and he was no english major.

 

He might’ve made some tea and grabbed a blanket and draped it over his shoulders sat on the floor with him and coaxed him into drinking it

 

but he was no psychology major, and they didn’t have the money for tea, and there weren’t enough blankets to go around their dorm anyway.

 

He could’ve kissed him. Maybe even wanted to kiss him,

 

but that was a stupid and dangerous idea, and Fiddleford was no idiot. He got into college, after all.

 

So instead he would pretend he couldn’t hear anything, couldn't see anything, until things quieted down and Ford shuffled out into their kitchen, and quietly Fiddleford would motion him over and go over some schematic or article with him, anything really, because Ford was a scientist, and he thrived on numbers and plans and statistics, and Fiddleford was a mechanic who was happy to provide them.

 

So when Fiddleford descends the stairs to find the basement echoing with anguish and filling with salt water it was commonplace,well worn instinct to turn around and ascend back to the kitchen, 

and quietly putter

and quietly wait.

 

But this time, for so reason he can’t quite place, he puts the kettle on for tea.

 

\------------------------------------

 

BiLl awakes on some sort of gurney, or hospital bed. He feels groggy, and off, and drained, and generally miserable, but that wasn't much of a change from before.

 

He also felt a stab-STAB-stabbing sensation in his

well, in his  _ being _

 

but it wasn’t as debilitating, or as blinding as it had been before, more peripheral now,

 

as he struggled to open his eye, but

 

he let out a strangled cry at what he saw.

 

The ceiling above him was reflective, and said reflection was

beyond everything that he has ever been afraid of.

 

In the center of his yellow, two dimensional chest, brick lines blurry, bow tie gone, was a very three dimensional, bleeding, heart.

 

Pulsing and blue and red and bloody and  _ wrong, wrong, wrongwrOnGwrONG  _ and it hurts again, too much,  _ too much, _

 

and he feels his eye close again

 

and he can’t bear to open it.

 

\--------

 

The next time he wakes he is not alone. Am is there, accompanied by short light bulb with legs and arms but no discernible face in a lab coat. 

A doctor, he supposes, wincing. 

 

“You’ve gotten yourself into quite the spot of trouble, haven’t you, young man.” The light bulb says in a lofty, wry voice.

 

BiLl laughs, which feels good, but still hurts.

 

“WhAt’Re yOu GoNna dO aBoUt iT, DoC?”

Am winces, and the doctor sighs.

 

“You appear to be manifesting the heart of ae earthen mammal. A human, to be precise. This would indicate that your proximity to a, ahem, human has caused you to develop human emotions and, consequently, a, well,  human heart. It is a dangerous condition, as our bodies are not calibrated for such organs,and, more importantly, our minds are not calibrated for these emotions. In essence, both your body and mind have been compromised. You will go insane from these emotions, or die with the ceasing of the beating said heart, which could be caused by the refuting of these emotions.”

 

Now BiLl winces.

 

“ **_So LiKe I sAid, DoC,whAt’Re yOu GoNna dO aBoUt iT_ ** **?** ”

 

“Well”, the doctor continues,”there is something that can be done. There is metal forged several dimensions away, and it can be melted down and made into a sort of protective plate that can be used to surround and compact the heart into your body. The success rate is nearly a 100%, and it will repress the emotions almost entirely. Some may leak through on occasion, but other than that it will be as though the heart was never there.I must warn, however, that it cannot be undone.”

 

The doctor says: “Think hard”

 

The doctor says: “We need your consent.”

 

Am winces.

 

BiLl says: “ **_Go aHEaD._ ** ”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I dropped all my feels and tears into this chapter.
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> The titular song is "7 devils."
> 
> Comments and kudos make my world a brighter place.
> 
> Thank all you lovely people for reading!!


	12. my black eye casts no shadow (your red eye sees no blame)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill comes back.  
> Sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first section of this is Ford's perspective of the whole crying in the basement thing, cause I felt like we hadn't gotten enough of his introspection?
> 
> I know I said 3 chapters left, but no I'm thinking I might have to make it 4. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The breed – so arrogant and dragonlike

in chasing him who flees, but lamblike, meek

to him who shows his teeth or else his purse –

was on the rise already

-Dante

 

nothing could possibly out-hurt 

what he felt in that basement,

Ford was certain

and he had felt  _ lots  _ of heart

he had felt the weight of a whole unsailed ocean and mostly finished boat 

crush his ribs every night for  _ years _

but at least there there was an  _ explanation _

 

this was somehow less simple,

sobbing 

beside the half finished portal all

_ alone  _ other than its metal frame 

and so  _ helpless  _ and  _ confused  _ and  _ raw  _ and there was  _ no one  _ to

_ tell,  _ no one to turn to for  _ advice _ , no one to whom he could say,

“hey, um, excuse me, 

my interdimensional muse fowardslash boyfriend appears to have DISAPPEARED

and i,

I,

I don’t know what to do,

_ I  _ don’t know  _ what to do _ ,

_ I don’t know _ what to do,

_ I don’t know what to do _ ,

I don’t, I can’t, I want,

i want,

I want,

 

What did he want?

There was no having a “normal relationship” with BiLl, 

he was an  _ interdimensional being _

he had no  _ physical form _

there was no way for Ford to say 

“Look, look here,

this one’s mine, 

he wants me, 

and I want him, 

and you can’t stop us”

 

But did BiLl really...

 

really  _ want  _ him?

 

If he really did, why would he

 

why would he just  _ leave _

but no,

but  _ no, _

 

BiLl  _ loved _ him, 

he told Ford, he wouldn’t lie

But that didn’t solve the first problem:

 

There would never be any introducing BiLl to his parents

no  _ you take care of my son _

no  _ you be faithful now _

no _ what a handsome couple _

 

BiLl was in  _ another dimension _

 

that’s what the portal was for though, wasn’t it,

_ merge your two worlds, _

BiLl could be  _ here _

BiLl could be  _ home here _

home

_ here _

 

but no,

but  _ no, _

 

even that wasn’t  _ really  _ a solution.

 

BiLl manifested as a  _ man _

 

which suited Stanford right as rain, 

which was only the way it should be 

 

But it meant there would never be any getting married

no  _ wedding bells are ringing _

no  _ all the old ladies are crying _

no  _ vows being taken _

no  _ I’m yours _

_ you’re mine  _

_ you may now kiss the bride _

 

because there would be no  _ bride _

and God forbid

(was BiLl a God?

No, surely, he’d have mentioned)

_ Godforbid _

people just  _ love each other _

(BiLl qualified as a people, right?)

 

upstairs he heard the tea kettle whistle, and he whispered something

even he didn’t understand under his breath

 

numbly, he mounted the stairs

 

............................................

 

BiLl comes back

 

Things are different.

 

Not worse, nothing could possibly be worse

then what Ford felt curled up on that work bench, all

_ alone. _

 

He’s not alone anymore.

 

He wasn’t alone at the kitchen table with Fiddleford,

with tea, and silence, and sympathetic smiles

 

And then he’s even more not alone,

 

cause BiLl  _ comes back _

  
  


or, at least, he mostly does.

 

Mostly.

 

But he  _ does  _ come back, 

smiling coyly like he did in the beginning, 

running his hands through Ford’s hair,

 

But he comes back golden, 

he comes back all tri-angular,

 

all angular,

 

all sharp,

 

But that’s okay,

that’s  _ okay, _

 

cause BiLl  _ comes back _

 

and BilL says the form change is cause the portal is almost ready,

he can’t come through it all fleshy, it won’t work or something

 

and BiLl says they need to focus more on the portal anyway,

that’s what’s  _ important _

 

and he’s right, isn’t he?

  
He’s even started possessing Ford around Fiddleford, even introduced himself to the mechanic

 

which he never would have done before, the thought had seemed to terrify him,

or disgust him

or  _ something _

 

but not anymore, now he’s actually rather  _ abrupt,  _

 

_ HoWdY MeAtSacK _

 

and BilL says it’s cause the portal is almost ready,

he needs to practice talking to regular old meatsacks,

 

and Ford just says oh, okay,

 

cause BiLl  _ is back _

 

not every night though.

 

he says he has “things to negotiate” back home

 

and Ford just says oh, okay,

 

and Fiddleford huffs 

 

and on those dreamless nights,

Fiddleford makes him tea, and they talk about mechanics

 

mechanics is a safe topic

 

...........................................................

 

BiLl awakes on some sort of gurney, or hospital bed. 

It takes him a moment to register where he is,  _ what  _ he is.

 

And what he is is very, very empty.

And a little groggy. 

 

After a moment's thought, he adds powerful to the list.

 

And nothing less. 

And nothing more.

 

BiLl goes back to the six-fingered meatsack’s shack, 

and he charms his pants off again 

and wraps him ‘round his finger

and starts getting that portal finished

 

BiLl goes back to his own golden mansion

meets with his investors

boozes with his friends

  
  


BiLl goes back to the six-fingered meatsack’s shack, 

he can’t seem to charm the little footsoldier of six-fingers

Fiddlesticks or whatever

 

He may pose a problem.

 

But six-fingered has built him an altar in the little living room he shares with footsoldier.

 

Said problem will not likely be too much of a problem.

 

.....................................

 

Fiddleford was not a hateful man.

 

Jaded, perhaps, jaded, certainly, he lived in California, after all, 

he lived in that oppressive lonely heat

in that sea of people too wary to come in for coffee, 

that garage where your hope and sense of accomplishment piles on the floor haphazardly as it falls away,

where that phone you can’t afford to keep running will ring and on the other line, it’s your mom, and she wants to know what you’re doing in California,

and you want to know what you’re doing in California, too,

and you want to  _ scream  _ that at her

Even there he did not hate.

 

He couldn’t hate the people there; most were as helpless as he was.

 

He couldn’t hate his mother. She loved him.

 

He was pretty sure she loved him, anyway.

 

Fiddleford was not a hateful man.

 

Fiddleford  _ hated  _ BiLl, 

 

BiLl, 

yellow eyes and angles,

 

BiLl, 

all Ford wanted to talk about,

 

Fids, you don’t understand, he  _ loves  _ me _ ,  _ we’re gonna  _ change the world, _

Fids, he says he’s never felt like this before,  _ never _

 

and part of Fiddleford wants to be happy for him,

 

but the whole thing seems sketchy,

and BiLl just seems  _ mean,  _ really

 

and when BiLl takes hold 

of that beautiful, strong body,

and sharp, intelligent mind

and steady , kind eyes

 

Fiddleford  _ hates  _ him

 

Ford doesn’t know what's going on here, really, he’s sure

building an  _ altar  _ in their living room

 

Ford doesn’t  _ deserve  _ this

He’s  _ amazing,  _ really,

 

Fiddleford is sure  _ BiLl  _ doesn’t really think that

Not like Fids thinks it.

 

Fiddleford  _ hates  _ him

  
There is nothing he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble's abrewin.
> 
> This chapter's song was Kiss with a Fist, mostly cause I really liked that one lyric for the title.
> 
> I know I always say this sorta thing here, but I really want to take a moment here to thank each and every one of you who has been commenting and kudo-ing and reading and telling me when my writing makes sense, because I feel like maybe I don't reach out enough, and honestly, you guys are the bomb-diggity and I'm so, so grateful that you guys take the time to read the stuff I write.
> 
> As always, you people are lovely, and thank you, thank you, thank you! :)


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